Their Captive Bride: The Complete Trilogy

Chapter 1

Nora

“Hello, little bird.” A deep voice skated over the back of my neck like velvet, making my nerves jump. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

I whirled, heart jumping into my throat at the man’s proximity.

In a hurry to obey my father’s demand for a meeting in his study, I hadn’t noticed the stranger lurking in the shadows of our cavernous foyer.

He leaned casually against the banister of the curved double staircase, head tipped at a curious angle.

Vibrant green eyes clashed with my shocked hazel gaze, his glittering with amusement that held an arrogant edge.

His square jaw was darkened by stubble, which matched the slightly untidy tumble of dark curls around his angelically perfect face.

A fallen angel, judging by the way he was looking at me.

His eyes roved over each of my facial features before dipping lower for a fraction of a heartbeat: a brief but intimate appraisal.

His white teeth flashed in a purely predatory smile, and he prowled toward me.

As he stepped fully into the light, the shadows cleared from beneath his high cheekbones, and recognition finally dawned.

Dante Torrio. I’d seen him at my father’s parties, but I didn’t truly know him. He was too painfully beautiful to look straight at him, like staring into the sun. And Father never allowed us to interact with men beyond a polite smile and demure nod.

He reached the edge of my personal space, then stepped into it as though he had every right.

He towered over me, almost a foot taller than my five-foot five frame.

Those striking eyes pinned me in place, peering straight into me.

The slightly cruel twist of his full lips sliced into my chest, stealing my breath.

His sudden nearness was shocking, his masculine scent suffusing the air around me with a foreign, enticing perfume.

I’d never stood so close to a man; men were forbidden.

Well, the only time I was this close was when Father tasked one of his goons with punishing me.

But this was different. Dante wasn’t looking at me with malice in his glittering eyes. The sharpness that pierced my soul was something hungrier than violence. My belly flipped, and I took a wary step back.

His grin turned lopsided, amused by my trepidation. A shiver raced down my spine, and warmth suffused my cheeks.

I took another step back, licking my suddenly dry lips.

Dante’s gaze darkened as he watched the flick of my tongue and focused on my mouth.

Something clenched between my legs, and my face burned with an embarrassed flush.

His intense attention made me squirm, and judging by the perverse pleasure that illuminated his sharp features, he was enjoying my apprehension.

I lifted my chin and met his taunting gaze head-on.

All my life, my will had been crushed by brutal men, any signs of defiance quickly obliterated by a harsh slap or thundering shout.

But no matter how many times I had to swallow my pride and bend, I kept my righteous rage stoked deep inside my chest.

Dante wasn’t one of my father’s men. He had no right to punish me. And I didn’t have to stand in his imposing shadow, shrinking beneath his cocky, self-assured stare.

His smile sharpened to something almost feral, and he grasped my hand with thick fingers, drawing my arm through his with a gentle but unbreakable grip.

Sparks tingled where our skin touched, his rough callouses rasping over my softer palm.

He rested my hand on his forearm, and I felt the raw power of his corded muscles even through his perfectly tailored suit.

Something tugged at the pit of my stomach, as though pulling me closer to his heat, his intoxicating scent.

I swallowed hard. “I have to go.” I hated the way my voice wavered, and I didn’t pull away from his allure.

I had to go meet my father in his study, or I would definitely be punished for my tardiness. No matter how fascinating I found this unnerving connection to Dante, it was dangerous. In so many ways. If Father saw me touching him…

I tried to yank my hand free, but his fingers firmed around mine, gluing my palm to his arm. He started walking with sure, confident strides, as though he was escorting me to a ball.

“We’re going to the same place,” he informed me, his voice still lilting with amusement. He liked that he was making me hot and flustered.

Defiant anger spiked, cracking my usual composure. I jerked away from him. “Let me go!”

I stumbled as he abruptly released me. His mocking chuckle rolled over my skin, making my flesh pebble and dance as though at a physical touch.

My cheeks burned with anger and embarrassment, and I quickly righted myself.

I walked stiffly toward my father’s study, my low, sensible heels clicking across the marble foyer.

Dante kept step beside me, half an inch too close for polite company.

I could still smell his heady cologne, and his body heat caressed my side.

His dark pleasure and masculine power pulsed over me, and I suppressed the tremor that teased along my bones.

I wouldn’t show further weakness. And I wouldn’t let him touch me again. Not when I knew he wouldn’t be the one to suffer the consequences; Father would have a fit if he knew I’d allowed a man to touch me.

I took a breath and settled my features into the composed expression that was my best protection against men’s cruel interest. If I gave them no reason to be angry with me, I wouldn’t be hurt.

The small, serene smile was a mask that shielded the fire in my soul.

They wouldn’t try to snuff it out if I didn’t let them see it.

Despite my calm demeanor, familiar dread weighed in my stomach, growing heavier with each step toward the study.

Nothing good ever happened to me in that room.

I was either called in for a reprimand or unpleasant news.

My fingers flexed at my sides in a fruitless attempt to release some of the mounting anxiety that wound my muscles tighter with each passing second.

“Do I make you nervous, little bird?” That mocking, amused tone again, but slightly deeper this time, another velvet caress.

I’d almost forgotten about Dante’s imposing presence at my side as my worry escalated, and I jolted slightly at his question.

“You’re not the one I’m worried about,” I answered honestly before I could think better of telling the truth.

I didn’t know Dante at all, and showing any man a shred of vulnerability usually ended in more pain. Father’s men liked inflicting pain. He selected them as his guards for their sadistic tendencies; he liked to inspire fear.

I edged away from Dante. I’d heard stories about his sadistic nature too. The urbane man strolling casually at my side was capable of shocking, brutal violence that made even the hardest men in our organization tread lightly in his presence.

He made a low humming sound that was almost a growl. It rumbled along my bones, drawing another shiver to the surface of my skin.

Too soon, we reached the threshold to the study. Instinct made me want to draw in a deep breath to fortify myself, but I didn’t dare. I arranged my face in a careful, pleasant mask and lifted my chin as I stepped inside.

Father sat behind his enormous, imposing mahogany desk, flanked by Giorgio, his most vicious bodyguard.

My father was still fearsome and ruthless, but age stooped his shoulders, and the beginnings of arthritis curled his fingers.

He wasn’t physically capable of doling out the violence he’d once been renowned for.

There was a reason he’d earned his place as consigliere of the Vitale crime family, Tommaso Vitale’s right-hand man.

Tommaso, the boss of the organization, was in even poorer health than my father, on his deathbed if the rumors were to be believed. Heart disease didn’t discriminate. It would take down the terrifying crime boss more cruelly than any bullet he’d dodged over the years.

I ignored the sharp glint in my father’s hazel eyes and went to join my sister, Giana.

Her olive toned features were nearly identical to mine, but her trepidation made her appear slighter than me, younger despite the fact that she’d been born eighteen months earlier.

The glimmers of golden strands shone through her brown hair, making her appear like a delicate, ethereal nymph in the low lighting of the opulent study.

Wood paneled walls surrounded us, closing in tighter with each of my carefully measured breaths.

I wanted to take Giana’s hand in mine and give it a reassuring squeeze, but I knew Giorgio’s black eyes would immediately take note of the small show of weakness.

Giana was fragile enough as it was, almost trembling in the burly guard’s shadow; she didn’t need any sign of comfort from me to signal further vulnerability.

“Dante, thank you for coming,” Father greeted as the impossibly handsome, disconcerting man entered the study behind me. I felt his heat at my back, still a little too close for polite company.

I released a small breath when he strolled past me, and the sense that I was being watched like prey finally eased.

His focus was on my father now, and I nearly sagged with relief; I hadn’t realized how his attention had put all my survival instincts on high alert, and now that his intense gaze shifted, I felt almost lightheaded at the release.

Dante tipped his head in an almost imperceptible nod, the barest show of submission. “I’m always happy to accept an invitation from you, Giuseppe.”

My father leaned forward on his elbows, his sharp gaze skewering the younger man. Dante didn’t so much as flinch. He met Father’s bone-quaking stare head on.

“Tommaso is dying,” Father said bluntly, cutting right to the chase with his usual battering ram approach to negotiations. “As you know, he expects his son, Luca, to take his place at the head of our family.”